


Chances of Indigo

by OctoberSpirit



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos' Hair, Cecil Is Not Described, Cecil Might be Human or Inhuman, Coffee, Conversations, Domestic Fluff, Dorks, Dorks in Love, Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Morning Routines, Relationship Discussions, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, they're just freaking adorable, they're perfect and i hate them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSpirit/pseuds/OctoberSpirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos has been thinking of getting a haircut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chances of Indigo

“Heading out?”

Cecil groans, stretching syllables until they multiply. “Yes. We have a meeting this morning. I am not looking forward to three hours of budget-talk and ritual chanting, let me tell you.” He knots his tie at the base of his throat, then adjusts it one-handed as he reaches for the coffeepot. Carlos abandons his slice of rye toast to press himself lightly against Cecil’s back.

“I thought you liked ritual chanting.” Cecil huffs a faint laugh as the words tickle his neck, spilling a few drops of coffee on the countertop. They begin to arrange themselves into complicated runes before Cecil swipes them away with a sponge, thwarting their attempts at prognostication.

“Only sometimes,” he returns, his fingers searching out the squeeze-bottle of honey—which does not, incidentally, fall within Carlos’ pre-Night-Vale parameters of what constitutes honey—and letting it ooze into his travel mug. The coffee gives a soft, growling hiss in response. “It’s a little grating at this time of day. I am not precisely what you’d call a morning person.”

Carlos rolls his eyes and nestles closer, making no attempt to conceal his mirth. “Is that so? You know, I don’t think I’d noticed.”

“Oh, shut up,” says Cecil, elbowing his stomach. His voice dips into a deeper register, imbuing the words with a metamorphic undertone. It rather makes them sound like “I love you,” although there is no auditory change. Carlos shakes his head slightly to reestablish order.

“Well,” he says, “regardless of chanting. Have a good day at work, okay?”

Cecil snaps the lid on his travel mug, his fingers tracing patterns across Carlos’ wrist. “And you have a lovely day off, my dear Carlos. Do you have anything exciting planned?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Self-consciously, Carlos runs a hand through his hair, attempting to drown his stirrings of guilt in the scent of Cecil’s sage fabric softener. “I thought I maybe might go get a haircut?”

Cecil finally disengages himself from his arms, turning and touching a lock of his hair, right where it’s starting to gray at the temple. “Aw,” he says, “well, it is getting shaggy. Were you thinking a trim, or something more interesting? Because Intern Octavia was just raving about this salon near the Night Vale Community College campus.”

Carlos makes a sincere attempt to respond but ends up rasping his throat on thin air, then spends the next twenty seconds coughing. Cecil bangs him on the back, worry creasing the skin between his eyebrows and tugging sharp at the corners of his mouth. He presses a water glass into Carlos’ hand, and Carlos manages to take a few gulps before swiping his forearm across his mouth, blushing. In the commotion, he’s knocked over Cecil’s coffee.

“No harm done,” Cecil murmurs, once he’s certain that Carlos is breathing. “Are you sure you’re all right? It’s not throat-spiders, is it?”

“No,” says Carlos, clearing his throat. “I just, um… You surprised me. I mean, I thought you would be more upset.”

“About what? A haircut?”

“Well, last time…”

“Oh, Carlos. Charming, thoughtful, respiratorily-challenged Carlos.” Cecil mops up the puddle of coffee, dabs at a dark, tiny spot on his tie. He pops the lid back off the mug and tops off the remaining liquid. “First of all, I apologize for being creepy. You were still new in town and I’m afraid I came on a little strong.”

“You didn—well, you _did,_ but I mean…”

“But it wasn’t about the _haircut,_ Carlos. It’s _your_ hair; you can decide what to do with it. Of course I _admire_ it, but I’m not some sort of controlling weirdo.” Cecil pauses, apparently considering the point, then backtracks with a faint, misting blush. “Oh, dear. That’s how I sounded, didn’t I? Carlos, I’m sorry. That isn’t what I meant.”

“It’s okay, I mean, I was still settling in…”

Cecil blinks apologetically wide behind his glasses, and the angle nearly lifts his gaze above the lenses. Simultaneously, both he and Carlos look away; neither of them is eager to repeat that trip to the hospital. “Listen,” says Cecil, “I admit that I was angry with Telly. He always gave people these _terrible_ haircuts, completely on purpose, and you couldn’t have known because you were new, so I _knew_ he was taking advantage of that, and your hair is fantastic, and I just went a little—”

Carlos brushes a kiss to his lips and he falters, letting himself be pressed against the counter. It is lovely and sweet until Cecil’s hand bumps the coffeepot, a jolt of pain forcing a hiss through his teeth. Carlos startles and gathers up Cecil’s left hand, his fingertips gentling the small, angry splotch. “Sorry,” says Carlos.

“—overboard,” Cecil finishes.

They meet each other’s eyes and smile, Cecil sheepish and Carlos with something like certainty. He has a tendency to catalogue people in the same way he catalogues scientific observations, and a particular expression that crosses his face when an observation seems to support a hypothesis. Cecil isn’t quite sure on the specifics of it all, but he does know he loves the way Carlos smiles.

“Anyway,” says Cecil. “I guess I should maybe, you know, get to work.”

“Oh!” Carlos nearly jumps from his arms, ducking his head to check Cecil’s watch. “You’re late, I’m sorry. Do you want me to drive you?”

Cecil kisses his cheek. “Nonsense, thoughtful Carlos. I’ll just miss some chanting. Like, so I’m late; do your worst, am I right?”

“No,” insists Carlos.

“It’s no problem,” Cecil says. He waves a hand to punctuate his point, then grabs his coffee and pushes off from the counter. “Enjoy your day off. I’ll see you for dinner?”

“Of course. Get going. I’m sorry for making you late for your meeting.”

“I’m sorry for sounding like a jerk-faced jerk. Thanks for going out with me, anyway.”

Carlos crosses his arms and smiles crooked, glancing down, taking Cecil’s place at the counter. “My pleasure,” he says, with the faintest edge of a double entendre. 

Cecil hums the day’s weather all the way to the station.

**Author's Note:**

> At some point, I read a comment on tumblr regarding various "Carlos cuts his hair and Cecil freaks out" plot-points in fics, and how it makes Cecil sound a leeeeeeeetle bit controlling and doesn't contribute to a healthy relationship, and things and stuff, etc etc. Which, I mean, I see where that's coming from, because I recently had an irl conversation with a coworker about how her boyfriend wouldn't give her permission to cut her hair, and I was like, "yeesh, no thank you."
> 
> Not that I think Cecil's thing with Carlos' hair goes to that extreme. I mean, I've used it as a comedic element in other fics. But it did sound like a good fic-prompt in itself. Like, _Carlos wants to cut his hair but is afraid Cecil will freak out: and, go._ But then Cecil is just like, "no totally, go get yourself a mohawk or whatever makes you happy, you live your dreams, hot stuff!" 
> 
> But anyway, just a bit of fluff. I think they're cute. That's the moral of the story. X3
> 
> You can find me at octoberspirit.tumblr.com if you want to tumbl with me.


End file.
